


It's In The Photograph

by Mackem



Series: Imaginary Advent Calendar 2012 [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 00:51:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackem/pseuds/Mackem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erica has a family tradition, and a new family to enjoy it with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's In The Photograph

**Author's Note:**

> Every year, I write what I call my Imaginary Advent Calendar, where each day until December 25th I open another window of an advent calendar that doesn’t exist and write what I picture various people or characters in different shows/fandoms/books in a holidays context. This year I’ve challenged myself to write a ficlet for every day. See Vicky panic! They’ll be in various different fandoms and pairings, and won’t be particularly long (except the ones that eat my brain). Enjoy! X!

Erica hasn't asked for much from Derek since he seduced her into his wolfy ways in the hospital morgue, and frankly, she thinks he owes her, just a little. So when he hears her idea and makes a face like he just bit into a lemon, she stands firm.

"A holiday photo?"

"Yes."

"Of the pack."

"Yup."

"No."

"Yes!" she declares, and draws herself up. She can’t help jabbing him in the shoulder as she speaks. "Since I joined your stupid pack, I have been knocked out by a lizard -"

"- that wasn't -"

“- paralysed -”

“- the kanima -”

"- tortured -"

"- I _did_ warn you about the hunters -"

"- and shot with arrows. And I'm still here!” she says, before cocking an eyebrow at him. “I think you're lucky a photoshoot is all I'm asking."

Derek frowns, arms crossed defensively. "A photoshoot?"

"The mall has a photographer around for the holidays. My family always get a photograph done. And you guys are like a second family now,” Erica says softly, not quite able to meet Derek’s eyes. He snorts, but when he replies, his voice undeniably fond in a way that soothes her hammering heart.

"I'm not your dad."

"I'm glad you're aware of that, but you’re still family. We're doing it," she declares, and smiles sweetly when he sighs in defeat.

Derek announces it to the pack next meeting, and seems genuinely bewildered when everybody else thinks it's a great idea. Derek seems resigned to it when Lydia suggests co-ordinated outfits.

Erica preens. This is so happening.

The universe, however, seems to think differently.

***

Stiles is the first casualty in Beacon Hill's war against Christmas, falling on the battlefield a few days before the shoot is booked.

There's some kind of warlock in town, out to leave people miserable. He‘s not violent, and nobody gets hurt, but he manages to enchant more than a few people into handing over their jewellery and valuables. The pack decides this is shady enough for them to chase him away before he starts doing anything worse, and they manage it, but not before he hits Stiles with some kind of spell and vanishes, cackling like a madman.

When they look through the haphazard pile of Stiles' clothes that is left where he was standing, they find he's been turned into a small red fox. It's definitely Stiles and it seems like he can still understand them, judging by the way he freaks out when they explain why they're all suddenly towering over him.

Explaining it all to his dad is…fun. They set the fox down on his dinner table and let Derek do the talking as Mr Stilinski goggles at him, mouth hanging open.

"You’re telling me _this_ is my son?" the sheriff sighs, peering through his glasses as Stiles cowers in front of him, and whines. 

"Yes."

"Your life is ridiculous," he tells the fox, who licks his nose in return. He laughs but wags a finger at him. "Don’t even try it, young man. This is a groundable offence. You can't just go around getting turned into a fox whenever you want."

Stiles gives him a look that broadcasts very clearly just how little he wanted this, then nuzzles against his hands until his dad gives in and pets him. There are badly-stifled smiles and cooing all around when Stiles rolls onto his back and begs for belly rubs. Lydia shamelessly takes a photo with her phone.

"You can change him back, right?" the sheriff asks the room at large. Everyone turns to Lydia, who sniffs.

"I need to do some research. But yes. Probably. Are you sure you don't prefer him this way? Oh, come on, you're super-cute," she tells Stiles matter-of-factly as he yelps in protest. His wounded look melts away when she scritches at his head with perfectly manicured nails. “Just give me a few days , maybe a week, and I’ll have him back.”

"Fine. Whatever you need. Just get him back to me. I suppose I should call the office and put in some holidays," the sheriff grumbles. "To look after this idiot."

“But weren’t you saving your time off so you could have Christmas with Stiles?” Scott asks worriedly.

“Yes, but somebody’s got to watch him, Scott. I can’t just leave him alone here all day.”

“Can’t one of us keep an eye on him? I can come around every day, when I get out of school.” Stiles yips his agreement with this, but the sheriff shakes his head firmly.

“With school, and lacrosse, that still means leaving him on his own for hours. And I won’t do that to you, kid,” he tells Stiles sternly, giving his wet nose a tiny tap. “It’s different when you can look after yourself. Now you don’t even have opposable thumbs,” he sighs. Stiles whines and aims amber eyes up at him. “Don’t look at me like that, you’re tiny! What if you get out and a dog eats you?”

Stiles the fox is just as expressive as Stiles the human. Erica’s not sure foxes should even be able to roll their eyes.

“I mean it, kid, you’re my son and I’m going to look after you. I‘ll change my days off around.”

“No! You can’t!” Scott interrupts. His own eyes are, if anything, just as anguished as Stiles’. “You guys haven’t spent Christmas together properly in years. Stiles is really looking forward to it, you can’t cancel your holidays!”

“Really? Stiles is looking forward to spending Christmas with me?” the sheriff asks in some surprise, and smiles when Stiles nuzzles sheepishly against his hand and licks his fingers. His dad strokes him soothingly, but shakes his head. “I’m sorry, kid. You’re my responsibility.”

“Not just yours,” Scott says stubbornly. “Ours too. He’s part of our pack.”

“That’s all very well, Scott, but you’re not listening to me. He can’t stay with you kids. Not while you’re all in school.”

“Not all of us,” Allison says pointedly. “I bet he couldn’t get into much trouble with an alpha watching over him, right?” Derek sighs as he is suddenly the centre of attention. 

"What?”

“You know what.”

“Fine. Try ’why’ instead. As in why should I get lumbered with Stiles?"

"You _are_ the alpha," Lydia says pointedly. “He’s in your pack, he’s your responsibility.”

“You’ll keep Christmas off if somebody looks after Stiles?” Scott asks the sheriff hopefully, who hesitates, but nods. “And you don’t mind living with Derek for awhile, right, Stiles?” Scott asks the fox.

Stiles seems to sigh. Then he traipses reluctantly across the table on dainty paws and plonks himself down in front of Derek. Derek scowls, but scowling is Derek’s initial response to everything from, “good morning,” to, “OH MY GOD IT BREATHES FIRE,” so Erica’s pretty sure Scott has won.

“If you’re sure…” the sheriff murmurs reluctantly, before aiming a stern look at Derek. “You take good care of him.”

“I will.”

“And don’t forget to feed him.”

“I won’t.”

“And don’t let him stay indoors all day. He does enough of that as it is, having four legs isn’t an excuse. You’ll need to walk him.”

“I can’t walk a fox!” Derek snaps. “They aren’t pets!”

“Actually, fennec foxes can be kept as pets. I sincerely doubt any of my deputies will be able to tell fox breeds apart if you tell ‘em you have a licence to own one. And if any of them give you any trouble, you just call me right away,” the sheriff grins. “You’ll need a collar and leash for him, of course.”

Stiles looks outraged. Derek seems to take it even worse.

“We can still have him in the photo, right?” Erica asks Derek as he’s about to hit the nearest pet store. “They let pets be in them. He’ll be allowed, I bet.”

Derek grins evilly. “He’ll be there. I’ll make sure of it. If I have to look after him I want a record of it.”

Not the sentiments Erica is hoping for in their family photograph, but she’ll take what she can get.

***

Allison is the next casualty. Three days before the shoot she shows up at Derek’s place with her left leg in a cast, wobbling on a pair of crutches.

“What happened?” Erica asks, eyes wide. “Are you okay?”

“I have a hairline fracture of my foot,” she grumbles.

“How?”

Allison sighs. “I slipped while I was taking the trash out. I know,” she says with a half-smile as Erica stifles a laugh as best she can. “If my life ever gets made into a film, I’m editing this part, and it’ll have happened in a much more exciting way.”

“Like kicking a rabid zombie in the face?”

“Or backflipping out of a vampire’s lair moments before it explodes,” Allison laughs, before offering a small shrug. “At least I can make everyone sign my cast.”

“We can find out if Derek can write,” Erica agrees. Allison shifts uncomfortably.

“My orthopaedic appointment is the same day as the photo,” she says apologetically. Erica’s face must fall, because Allison is suddenly aiming her patented adorable smile at her. “It’s okay! I asked for the earliest one. I might be a little late, but I’ll be there, I promise!”

Erica smiles in return, flooded with relief. Her friendship with Allison is new, and kind of shaky, but she was pack. Erica needs her to be there. “Okay! Great. I‘ll just ask the photographer if we can change our time slot, that‘s all. We’ll make it a little bit later. ”

“Sure! Maybe I can wrap the crutches in tinsel,” Allison says thoughtfully.

***

The day before the photo, just after Erica leaves the hair salon and joins Boyd, Derek, Isaac and Scott for training, the alphas attack.

It’s nothing more than a warning. They know that much, because they’re all left alive. What they’re being warned _about_ is not so clear, but since when is anything obvious in Beacon Hills?

What is _perfectly_ clear is that the three hours Erica just spent in the salon were pointless. It’s impossible to care too much about that, though, when every person there is left battered and bleeding. It could have been worse - nobody’s intestines have become out-testines - but Erica suspects that if the alphas had wanted, each and every one of them would be cooling in shallow graves right now.

They manage to limp back to the Hale house together, leaning heavily on each other as they go. Isaac has an arm slung around Derek’s shoulders while Derek keeps one wrapped around his waist, keeping him upright as he stumbles. Erica’s pretty sure he’s not completely conscious, if the trickle of blood from his matted hair and the angry bruise that spreads from his forehead into his scalp are anything to go by. Derek, meanwhile, has a nosebleed that seems to have no intention of stopping, and is breathing painfully against what is probably several broken ribs.

Behind the two of them, Erica walks with her weight divided between Scott and Boyd, the three of them in possession of maybe two uninjured legs out of six. They stumble often, none of them steady on their feet and all of them gasping in pain as they lurch home. Scott has two black eyes blooming, Boyd has a line of vicious claw marks slashed into his face, and Erica’s nose and lips feels like they’ve swollen to twice their normal size.

When they get home, they are greeted by a furious fox, who darts between the five of them and seems to be telling them precisely how lucky they are to still be alive. Derek silences Stiles’ panicky barks by scooping him up and sliding him inside his shirt, cuddled against his bare skin, and actually flushes as the four of them smirk in response. “It shuts him up,” he says defensively, voice rough; he has finger-shaped bruises around his throat from where one of the alphas throttled him. “I don’t know why. I think he likes it.”

“You _think_ Stiles likes being held against your chest?” Scott mutters, watching the tip of Stiles‘ tail waving from the ripped collar of Derek‘s shirt. “You must be the only person who doesn’t _know_.”

Derek doesn’t seem to have a reply to that, mostly because by now he’s reached the room they designated as a communal bedroom; it’s filled with mattresses, pillows, and blankets, and is irresistible right now.

They have just enough energy to strip off their ruined, bloodied clothes before they collapse into a heap together, curled close and clinging to each other, and collectively pass out.

When she wakes the next day, Erica sighs at herself in the mirror. The swelling has barely gone down from every injury the alphas have inflicted, she’s bruised and cut and sore everywhere, and she’s pretty sure she’s got twigs in her hair from being thrown onto the forest floor. A shower just barely improves the situation, though her cuts and grazes look no less angry for it.

She sighs, and makes it her business to make sure everyone at least showers before they head out. They may be achy and pained, but they damn well won’t be bloodied.

"We're still doing this?" Isaac asks curiously as he scrubs at his wet curls and winces. Erica scowls defensively.

"Yes."

"Even though we look like we had our asses handed to us?" Her shoulders slump.

"At least it‘ll be an accurate picture," she mumbles, and smiles as he wraps her in a cuddle.

***

Scott heads off to meet Allison with a distinctly pained run, while Derek drives Erica, Boyd and Isaac to the mall. He still doesn't seem particularly comfortable with the idea of being in a family portrait, but he'd hurried them out to the car anyway, once Erica began glaring pointedly at her watch.

Their drive is uneventful. She sits in the back with Boyd, with Stiles between them. He seems to welcome all the petting she wants to lavish upon him, and watching him chase Boyd's fingers with playful growls is pretty cute.

So they arrive just fine, even if they get some strange looks, limping awkwardly through the mall with a fox in a pet carrier ("You don't have a choice," Derek had told Stiles as he growled his protest, refusing to get inside. "Pets are allowed in for the photos but they have to be contained. Now get in before I throw you in."). They find Scott and Allison waiting for them in the little photographer's area, Allison with her crutches decorated with candy cane stripes and Scott's eyes still blackened. 

There's no sign of Jackson or Lydia.

"Lydia called," Allison offers when Erica looks around anxiously. "She said they're having car trouble but they're on the way. She sounded pretty mad."

"She looks it," Boyd mutters, squinting back through the mall, and they all turn to see Jackson and Lydia approaching.

The two of them are getting just as many looks as the rest of the pack did; if anything, they're getting more. They are _filthy_ , bedraggled and wet and covered from head to toe in mud. They look as if they've been rolling around in a field.

They have. 

" _Somebody's_ car blew a tire," Lydia snaps as she stomps up to them. Allison gasps.

"Are you okay?"

"Do I look okay?" she says scathingly as Jackson slinks up beside her, like one giant, sentient scowl.

"She's not hurt. She's just being pissy."

"I think I'm allowed, Jackson! I have mud everywhere! Even in my _mouth_!"

"You do look pretty well covered," Allison says with a sympathetic smile. She pats Lydia gingerly on the shoulder, gently brushing dirt from her hair. "What happened?"

"There was a diversion on the route I normally take," Jackson snaps. He sneers at Stiles through the soft mesh of his carry case. "Courtesy of the Sheriff's office."

"It's not his dad's fault your stupid car blew a tire," Scott protests as Stiles growls. “Leave him alone! Don't you think he's gone through enough?"

"Everyone settle down," Derek sighs. 

"So we were diverted onto some piece of shit back road with potholes like swimming pools, where a piece of metal just _lying_ in the road blew my tire out and spun us into a field," Jackson spits. 

"Where somebody made us try to push his car back onto the road before he was willing to call recovery," Lydia says in a falsely bright tone. "And he was fine with his girlfriend falling on her ass and being covered with dirt, but as soon as it happened to _him_ the situation was unacceptable."

"And you still came here?" Erica asks, amazed. Lydia huffs and flicks fiercely at her muddied hair as Jackson aims a sullen glare at his alpha.

"I like my throat where it is, not dangling from Derek's teeth. We had our orders. Get here or get out of town." Derek shifts uncomfortably as Erica grins at him, and cuddles against his arm.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

"Are we done chatting?" Lydia demands. "The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can spend three hours in the shower. Will somebody _please_ give me their jacket?"

The photographer takes one look at them and sighs like his pay check isn‘t worth this shit. He tries half-heartedly to direct them, but gives up when his repeated attempts to get the werewolves to open their eyes or remove their sunglasses are consistently ignored.

***

The photo is ready to collect a week later. Erica picks it up and beams at the sight of it.

They're a hot mess. Scott is seated and Allison sprawls in his lap, his bruised eyes squeezed shut happily as he presses his lips to her cheek with a grin. She’s laughing in return, and waving at the camera, her cast covered with scrawled signatures and well wishing and stupid doodles drawn in coloured sharpies. Lydia and Jackson stand on their left, Lydia drowning in Isaac's jacket; there are slashes in the arms, but at least it hides her ruined dress, and the mud coating her hair and drying on her face fades into insignificance when faced with her brilliant smile. Jackson is hiding behind her a little, but the fact that he fell face-first into a field remains obvious, especially where a frustrated hand has tried to run through his hair and left it clumped and bedraggled. He's got his eyes aimed at the ceiling, and a long-suffering expression on his face. And dirt. _Lots_ of dirt. But Erica can't help but seeing that the corner of his mouth is upturned as Lydia leans against him.

Behind Scott and Allison is Derek, who looks…happier than Erica expected. He's not glaring at the camera as she thought he would; his eyes are closed, but crinkled at the corners with his small, pleased smile. Stiles is held up for the camera with one large hand, his tail wrapped around Derek's wrist and a small, pink tongue caught in the act of licking Derek on the cheek. Derek's other arm is curled around Isaac's shoulders, a grin made of sunshine shining from his face as he hides his eyes behind ridiculous sunglasses; Lydia's, offered in exchange for his jacket. 

To the right of Scott and Allison stands Boyd, with Erica held tight in a piggyback. He'd dragged her onto him with a grin, even as she protested about him being in pain and not wanting to make it worse. He had grinned, kissed her briefly, and assured her she could never hurt him. In the photograph she has her legs wrapped around his waist, kicking out, laughing behind her own sunglasses as she kisses the side of his head and he grins cheesily and clings onto her.

They're a pack who are bruised and hurt, that much is obvious, but they're not broken. Erica smiles, and wonders if it's too early to plan next year's picture.


End file.
